Conversations: A Case In Point
by mumyou nanashi
Summary: Dearka Elthman may be a playboy but he never made a habit of making girls cry. How the heck was he supposed to know her loser boyfriend DID die? [slight DM]


_**Disclaimer: **Can't really think of a witty disclaimer, so I'll settle for the classic, 'I do not own Gundam SEED.' Savvy?_

_-_

* * *

**-**

**A Case In Point**

**-**

* * *

-

-

This has got to be the worst ship there ever was. First, that girl tried to kill me which was a clear violation of the international laws about the humane treatment of prisoners such as myself. I think it was the 1906 Geneva Convention; I'm not sure. I never really paid much attention to ancient history. Wait, did I just call myself a prisoner? If I remember correctly, I actually surrendered. I'm not sure, don't quote me on that. The memory of my capture is very hazy. Call it selective amnesia or something.

My plan was to make the crew's life a living hell and to find out as much as I could about the goddamn legged-ship. After that, I intend to escape and reveal their secrets for all of ZAFT to see. Of course, I haven't plotted out the details of my great escape yet. I haven't even commenced on Phase Two of my plans for crying out loud!

But I have managed to somehow make a certain girl's life a living hell, if only for a moment. And she returned the gesture as well by trying to plunge a six-inch knife into my skull. Allow me to take this wondrous moment to say how deeply appalled I am by the low standards of this ship (remind me to thank Captain Ades for that line; he used that quite often when we were in the _Vesalius_).

First, the guards poke their guns very hard on my back and then they talk behind my back about how _young_ I was. Hello, dimwits. I'm a Coordinator. And guess what? Coordinators have super-sensitive hearing. I can hear you from the Buster! Didn't they know it was impolite to speak behind someone's back?

And then, I actually give this girl a compliment and they act as if I asked her to climb on my bed or something. It was pathetic, really. Why in the blue hell was she crying, anyway? I was the one tied-up with several guns poking very painfully at my back, for crying out loud… er, no pun intended. At least, that was what I thought, then.

The guards brought me to the infirmary because of god-knows-what. Frankly speaking, they should be the ones quarantined. Who knows what kind of Natural germs inhabited the place? The accommodations were nice, though, if not a bit cramped. The only thing still bothering me was that I was still tied-up. I lay there for god-knows-how-long, and who should grace me with her presence but the one and only, Miss Crying-Is-My-Middle-Name. Gods, if she wanted to have a boyfriend, she'd better stop crying.

She looked at me as if I was something _ugly_ that the dog dragged in. Hey, I may be many things but _ugly_ was not one of them. So, I retaliated. That's what I do. I'm an expert at riling people up. Got plenty of practice, what with growing up with Yzak and all. So, I said the most obvious thing. She was crying because her good-for-nothing Natural boyfriend died on her. The words aren't exact, since I'm practically losing consciousness due to hunger here.

Where was here anyway, you might ask.

I'm getting there; let me get back to my story.

So, there I was blabbing about how her Natural boyfriend was such a loser when she suddenly raises a knife over my head and stabs my pillow. It could have been all fine and dandy, except my freakin' head was conveniently on the friggin' pillow. Thank God I'm a Coordinator with quick reflexes. If I were a loser Natural, then I would have a knife sticking out of my skull. Not a pretty way to die.

Things happened in a blur after that. Two more people entered. Four-eyes, the one who shot me those deadly laser-glares before, and a red-head whom I have never seen before in my life. They talked, or more appropriately, the girls shrieked and before I knew it, I had a gun pointed at my bleeding noggin.

I was mentally reciting my last will and testament.

_For my mother and father, I leave all the medals that I have achieved during my stint with the military._

_For Commander Le Creuset, I leave my shampoo, to keep his blond hair as gorgeous as mine._

_For Miguel… wait, he's dead. Well, see you, man._

_For Rusty… oops. Dead as well._

_Nicol… Ditto._

_For Yzak, I leave all the girlfriends that I have left behind. God knows how much you need to get laid._

_For Athrun… well, guess what? I ain't leaving you anything._

I was about to mentally sign it when the cute girl jumped (hey! Nice view there!) and stopped the red-head from blasting my brains. The bullet meant for me went straight to the fluorescent light and, as if things couldn't get any better, I got showered with broken glass. Then, what do you know? The guards finally show up after everything that has happened.

I repeat. This ship is so disorganized, it's a wonder they managed to elude us for 7624723 times. Mistreating prisoners, leaving prisoners _unsupervised_ in the infirmary, leaving knives _and_ guns, for crying out loud, _unsupervised_ in the infirmary… I wish I'd noticed the knife lying oh-so-innocently there, though. Could have made my escape.

Oh! And the most important thing: _NOT FEEDING PRISONERS ON TIME_.

My stomach is cursing me and threatening to eat me whole.

And that were the things that caused my current position inside this pitiful prison cell. What, no mirrors? (For those who are rather slow, my flashback has ended and I am lying here on my back behind bars.)

Well, blame it on my hunger but my mind wandered to unpleasant thoughts. Okay, they aren't unpleasant, but I could've done well without thinking them up. I remembered what the cute girl said. Something about why I was there and Tolle wasn't.

Oh, crap.

So, it was true then.

Her loser of a boyfriend _did_ get blasted to pieces.

Give it up for Dearka Elthman! Winner of the Dramatic Irony Award, as well as hottest guy on the PLANTs!

Applause, applause.

I'd like to thank the cute, crying girl who tried to stab me for this award. If your boyfriend hadn't been killed and if you hadn't tried to kill me, all of this wouldn't have been possible. And also to my best friend, Yzak. He didn't really do anything but I want to mention him to make all the girls notice him. Between you and me, he _really_ needs to get laid to lighten up.

Crap.

For the first time in my life, I felt… remorseful.

Note to self: Must mark this date on the calendar for such a momentous (note the sarcasm here) occasion.

How was I supposed to know I was right? Now I know just how Athrun feels. It sucks being right all the time. I may be cocky and sardonic, but somehow, I felt… guilty. Argh. I need that food now, before I start confessing my undying love for her, damn it!

Despite being labeled a playboy, I never made girls cry. Never. Even when I was being an insufferable ass towards the cute girl, it was never in my intention to make her cry. I just found her crying pathetic, to say the least. Okay, okay, I confess. The truth was I wanted her to stop crying. I wanted to curse her loser boyfriend for making her cry. Call it a weakness, but I did not find crying girls appealing – Natural or Coordinator, alike.

I do not hate Naturals per se; I just find them to be a bunch of losers intent on destroying us because they were jealous of our superiority. Hey, you can't really blame me for thinking that way. Blue Cosmos and the Earth Alliance weren't really big on the fine art of subtlety.

The thing that struck me the most was that…

…She looked at me as if I was some kind of _monster_. Oh, my bruised ego.

Did they really see Coordinators that way? As monsters? What about us? After Junius Seven, I began thinking that Naturals were monsters, as well. Wait… was there such a thing as a cute monster? Just wondering.

What if…

Hey, I'm not a monster.

And, she didn't look anything like a monster. But she sure looked scary as well when she tried to stab me!

But anyway, what if… we were all wrong?

If I didn't know better, she seemed like an ordinary Coordinator girl to me – which of course, she wasn't. What I meant was that girls were the same whatever race they are. Always so goddamn overly emotional. You get the idea.

I rolled onto my back and saw a flash of tearstained blue eyes.

The cute girl.

Miriallia, if I remember her name correctly.

We stared at each other for a moment before she turned away. For some reason, I stopped her. (Actually, it was because I wanted to remind her that I hadn't eaten yet, but don't quote me on that.) "Wait." Thankfully, she did as I told her and we resumed our staring contest. Something changed in the way she looked at me. I couldn't put it into words exactly, but something changed. "Your boyfriend… what was he piloting?"

She seemed to hesitate for a moment. She averted her eyes. It was an awkward moment for both of us. Me, being the insufferable asshole that I had been, and her, being the murderous bitch that she had been. "He was piloting a Skygrasper. It was a blue and orange plane."

Skygrasper, huh? As far as I know, the Skygrasper that I was fighting didn't suffer that much damage. At any rate, I was sure I did not kill him. And as far as I'm willing to grudgingly admit, the pilot of that machine kicked my ass. Surely, her loser boyfriend wasn't the pilot I fought.

I lay back down.

"It wasn't me."

Not the most proper apology, but hey, after almost killing me, sorry sister, but that's all you're going to get.

For some reason, she seemed relieved.

She left.

I wondered why in the blue hell didn't I ask for some frickin' food.

But for some reason, I wasn't hungry anymore and I felt… relieved. The knowledge that I didn't make her cry was enough to ease my mind even if I was stuck in a cramped prison cell. Well, thanks to her; I've got many questions floating around in my mind. Questions, doubts, about the war that would make Yzak's perfectly straight hair curl.

If Coordinators and Naturals were alike, who exactly are our enemies?

Is war really the answer?

After the war, what then?

Is there really satisfaction in making other people suffer?

How many girls have been left behind by the guys that I killed?

Will I ever settle down and marry?

Is there a guy in this ship that's more handsome than I am?

Hey, don't blame me for asking those questions! With all the time I have locked up in here, I wouldn't be surprised that my mind kept on coming up with unusual things to keep it occupied. To hell with it all. What have I got to lose for thinking these things, anyway? I've got nothing better to do. And at the rate that I'm going, I'd rather these questions were answered before I starve to death.

Miriallia's relieved face flashed in my mind once again.

Well, I just hope that next time she visits; she remembers to bring me some food. And to leave the knife and the red-head behind.

-

* * *

-

_**Author's Notes: **My first ever Dearka-Milly piece. I do hope Dearka's in character. Comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated. Amazing how much a black-out can do. This is my second one in under four hours. Phew._

_Too bad it can't do anything for my other fics…_

_I do not believe in love at first sight. Dearka doesn't hate Milly, but I think it would only be natural for him to be wary of her after she almost stabbed him in the head. He was mainly at fault too, for provoking her._

_For comments and suggestions, 1-800-RVW-PLZ-K-THNX._

_Or just make things easier for all of us and press the purple button below._


End file.
